Between One World and the Next
by orliNkeira
Summary: BriseisAchilles. Of the events during the war. How does she feel, knowing her heart has been given to a Trojan murderer, a man whom she cannot claim to know? Why do her thoughts of hatred eventually become thoughts of acceptance and contentment? Review.
1. Default Chapter

The Myrmidons tugged at her white robes, once formally a stark clean white, now a dirty, blood-splattered garment, streaked with the grime and grease from their hands. Their muscled hands and firm grip was no match for her and Briseis knew that she was fighting a losing battle. But she did not stop her struggling, though growing weaker and more tired by the minute. She knew that if she stopped, it was a sign of defeat on her part and the Greek soldiers would have won. They had her as their captive no doubt, but they would not control her. She was a Trojan Princess and royalty had their pride and self-respect!

The soft brown hair that tumbled down her shoulders, once greatly admired by the ladies of the palace, now seemed to her like an unwanted pest. Her thick hair hung heavily down her face, sticking to her sweaty, bloodstained cheeks. It seemed to smother her and she gasped for air as the Greeks pulled her forcefully along, unable to keep up with their powerful strides.

_Where were they taking her?_

"Get up you wretch!" one of them shouted at her when she tripped on her torn robes and fell onto the sand. "Achilles has no pleasure for such a weak wench like you! Move on now!" Briseis heard another rough voice roar behind her.

She paled. She had heard of the Greek warrior Achilles, son of Peleus, the invincible wonder at the battlefields.

_More like treacherous murderer_, she thought bitterly. She knew what loomed ahead of her. Her future as the slave girl to Achilles, whore to the men when night fell. Then when they grew tired of her, she would meet her death in a brutal way, her body kicked and beaten around before they left her to rot on the sands.

Briseis cried out in pain as one of the Greeks took hold of a handful of her hair and started dragging her along the coarse sand, cutting tiny red scratches along her arms and legs. They continued to drag her, laughing at her screams and shouts as she hit her face against a chipped stone half hidden under the mounds of sand. Tears stung at her eyes, but she blinked them away. She would not let them see her cry like a helpless weakling of a princess. She would not give them reason to spit upon Troy and she honored it with her head held high. A thick warm liquid oozed into her mouth and she ran her tongue over it. It was salty, the taste of her blood.

The journey to Achilles tent seemed to take eternity. It was excruciatingly painful. Everywhere they passed, she could feel the lecherous stares from the Greek men, the taunting leers and cutting insults they threw at her. The hot Aegean sun shone harshly upon them and her long tresses clung to her skin like plague, matted with filth and sweat.

Tears threatened to overflow many times as Briseis thought of the situation she was in. A royal Trojan priestess, she would soon have no dignity to ever face her Uncle, her cousins and sweet Andromache. Neither would she again deserve to wear the virgin robes of Apollo's temple. She cried out to Apollo, remembering He, the Sun God was watching from above.

What would Hector, Paris and Priam say when they saw her like this? Never had she dreamed that it would all end this way. _Oh Paris, what have you done!_

Finally, after what seemed like endless hours of being dragged like a dead corpse, the soldiers came to a halt in front of a large tent, much larger than most of the other tents she had managed to glimpse on the way.

Without warning, she was picked up like a sack of flour, two calloused hands gripping her feet, another two grabbing her arms, her face facing upwards. The piercing sunlight glared at her sharply and she cringed, looking away while kicking feebly at the men's hold on her.

Swinging her like how she had seen workers do so with grain bags in the granary, they pushed past the leather flaps hanging at the entrance and tossed her inside. Briseis landed on the hard ground in the tent, bruising her hip painfully. She groaned and choked back a sob as the whole experience began to overwhelm her. She scrambled to get up and made a foolish dash for the entrance, seeing that the men were slightly distracted. But she had underestimated them, and before she could get her head out the door, they had grabbed her bruised arms and jerked her back in.

"Feisty little thing aren't' you, you whore?" a mighty soldier with fearful black eyes spat, giving her a slap across her face.

She gasped at the impact of his action, furious and horrified.

They pulled her arms back, throwing her towards a standing pole in the tent. Whipping out a length of leather strip, they began to bind her wrists and feet, tying the bounds on her hands to the pole.

"Lets see how you can get away now wretched girl!" The soldiers shouted at her brusquely, before they strode out of the tent, leaving Briseis to her own despair.

…………………………..

Briseis struggled against the unwelcome bounds, trying to break free. But the only thing she succeeded in doing was to chafe her wrists even further. She knew that the leather strips were cutting a tender raw circle around her wrists. She could feel the sharp stings and tiny trickles of blood when they oozed down to meet her fingers.

Taking a break on her hands, she tried pulling the bounds around her ankles apart. _Perhaps the leather strips are old_, she thought desperately, in search for some kind of comfort in this vile place. Briseis hissed softly as the leather strap cut into her skin, causing a dizzy pain to shoot through her body. She let out a few frustrated cries. What a sight she must be now!

Every now and then she would wrestle against her tight bounds, refusing to give up hope.

Just as a wave of tiredness washed over her and she felt that all hope was lost, hot tears springing from her eyes, there came a loud voice from outside.

"My Lord, I have something to show you."

_Achilles!_ Her heart beat faster in fear, her breathing short and quick. In fear and a sudden drive of desperation, she started to pull and struggle furiously. Feeling as though she was in a fierce battle with Time, she wanted badly to win. With each moment he was getting closer and she knew what all captives were made to do. She did not want to break her promise to Apollo! She did not want to shame Troy and dishonor her family!

Briseis cried out softly once more, resigned to her bounds, feeling the hot tears mark a clean path on her dirty cheeks.

She looked to the entrance where a man was now entering, rustling the leather flaps. He looked up, and their eyes met in a short fleeting second.

Everything around her seemed to freeze when their eyes locked. He had crystalline blue eyes, as clear as the skies above, with irises as deep and intense as the heart of a sapphire. They seemed to see through her, its intensity unutterable, however much Briseis wanted to lose herself in them. But she was lost in them already. She was lost in never-ending depths of his eyes, where the emotions changed and morphed with remarkable swiftness. In that spilt second of time, his eyes had grown from hard and cold, to…

She did not know. They were unreadable.

Suddenly shockingly aware at what they, or she was actually exchanging, she broke the gaze, looking down at her dress, suddenly thankful again for her long hair that framed her face.

Slightly flustered, she kicked and wrestled against the straps once more, trying to rid her mind of the unexpected happening. She was upset that she should have allowed such a thing to take place, no matter how short it was.

A voice broke her train of thoughts that were becoming increasingly frantic, and she looked up toward it, grateful for the distraction.

"We thought she might…amuse you, My Lord." The soldier crouching by the entrance informed with a slight curl of his lips, and took his leave with a short nod of his head.

Her anger and hatred and misery returned to her immediately, overpowering her, as she remembered what she was going to be used for in awhile.

_These arrogant Greeks! They think they can do whatever they want! They know nothing, only their greed and selfishness!_

Briseis glared angrily at Achilles. It was the first good look she had of her captor. As much as she was furious at herself for actually looking at him, she could not help herself. She had never seen anyone, or anything like him before.

He was tall, much taller than her, with strong muscular arms and legs, befitting for a legendary warrior as him. His hair was gold like the sunlight and it hung around his chiseled face in matted, twisted locks. He had on a black armor with few intricate designs, unexpected from a man of such status and was covered with black dirty streaks running down his arms, neck, face and legs. And there was also blood. Blood splattered on his face, hair, arms, legs, armor, _everywhere. _

_The blood of Trojans. My people. _

Briseis could feel a fire blaze in her eyes and her hatred consuming her.

_This good-for-nothing, conceited murderer! He deserves no more praise and glory then Hades himself!_

Briseis turned her head sharply away from him, the moment before vanishing into the forgotten world. Inwardly, she was mocking herself for even allowing herself to be affected by that little exchange of glances.

_I was looking into the eyes of a murderer! How could I not be affected, much less anyone else?_

She gritted her teeth in anger, fighting, though weakly, at the painful bounds. Now it was not so much tiredness that she moved slowly, it was the intense pain that ran through her when she made the slightest movement. All the soreness and bruises from the morning had settled in her bones and she was aching terribly.

She kept her head looking straight ahead, seeing him take a long drink of water before pouring it down his armor. He began to remove the upper armor, and settled the heavy piece of metal on the ground. Briseis was in an inner conflict this time. She should not be doing so, but she could not look away from his firm, muscled back, tanned golden brown from all the years at war. There was not a single scar spoiling it.

Neither was there any, not even the faintest trace of one on his equally stunning chest.

This time though, she was more aware about her actions and gave him a fierce glare before looking away. Briseis managed to catch a glimpse of face and perhaps a reaction, but there was none. His face was calm and hard, expressionless. _Like stone_, she thought.

He walked over to the water basin and started splashing himself with water, rubbing away the dirt on his skin. A sudden anger erupted within her and she turned to face him, her chin held up, tossing her hair away from her face. She would show him she was not frightened! She was not the common slave girl who was going to listen to him and be controlled by him. She trembled slightly, her heart thumping heavily and she tried to erase any other emotion in her eyes other than defiance. Because deep down, Briseis was frightened. She was fearful of her future, fearful of what was to come next.

The Greek warrior turned to glance at her every once and then but he focused on cleaning himself up. Briseis, however, continued shooting hateful looks at him, desperately praying to Apollo to save her.

Right before her eyes, he undid his toga bottom and it dropped to the floor in a black heap. He stood standing naked in front of her, striding to the next washbasin, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

Horrified at what she had just witnessed with her very eyes, Briseis felt her cheeks grow hot and she looked down at her lap, hoping that he had not seen her blush.

Briseis nearly screamed in protest and the unfairness of it all. Yet she could do nothing for she was his captive.

The hotness in her cheeks would not go away, and she flushed deep with shame. She heard more water being splashed around and sensed him walking to her. Briseis looked up, thinking he had dressed already.

He had not and instead had only merely taken a clean toga bottom to wear on. She glared furiously at him, feeling more color creep on her cheeks as she looked up to meet his face.

_Has he no respect? No shame? Do he not recognize the priestess of Apollo? Has he no fear? _

Briseis tore her glare away from him, infuriated as his features had contoured into one of slight amusement.

_I am not some sort of present here to amuse you! _Briseis thought, wishing she could spit the words in his face.

_Where has my courage gone?_

………………………………


	2. Two

………………………………..

Briseis shut her eyes tightly for a moment, despising her lack of courage, her failure in not being able to control her emotions.

"What is your name?"

Her eyes flickered open tentatively as she heard his voice for the first time, a strong commanding voice laced with arrogance.

_He expects me to answer._ She thought scornfully. _Well, I shall not. I will not reveal my name and have him utter it like he would to a cheap whore!_

"Did you not hear me?" He spoke again, a cool lilt to his tone.

Briseis tossed her head away from him haughtily, her long hair curtaining the side of her face as she openly ignored his question. _Or rather, demand_. Briseis thought spitefully. Then she chose to reply, but not to his question.

"You killed Apollo's priests." Her voice thick with emotions and suppressed sobs. Images of the innocent priests being slaughtered mercilessly flashed across her mind in vivid colors.

"The Sun-god will have his vengeance." she proceeded, trying to strike some fear into the fearless man.

"Then what is he waiting for?" He questioned in an amused, calm voice, as though talking to an ignorant child. His blue eyes almost seemed to sparkle with mirth, but Briseis knew that such was impossible.

"The right time to strike!" Briseis shot back, her voice trembling as she steadied it. She took in a deep breath to calm herself; her chest was already racked with silent sobs.

"His priests lie dead and his acolyte held captive. Perhaps he fears." he countered smoothly, his face serious. He looked neither bored nor entertained.

"Apollo is master of the Sun! There is nothing…" Briseis cried out, her confident voice dying down to a low murmur. She lowered her eyes tiredly. It seemed like he had set that up to make her look a fool, justifying her religion.

"Where is he?" he pushed further.

"You are nothing but a killer! You wouldn't know anything about the Gods!" Briseis shot back, her words filled with loath.

"I know more about the Gods than your priests. I've seen them." He stated blandly. Briseis turned to look up at him, purely amazed at the self-righteousness he flaunted.

All of a sudden, he strode in her direction, a twisted expression on his face.

"You're royalty, aren't you?" He paused momentarily in his footsteps. It was a question, but when he said it, it became a statement because he knew she was. There was no need for questions.

Silence prevailed in the stifling heat before she heard loud steady footfalls proceeding towards her. Whipping her head up to face him with what she could only hope was courage written on her face, she looked at him squarely in the eye.

_Are you going to have me killed for not obeying? _ Briseis scoffed, almost daring him to take up his knife and kill her. _What could be easier? _She challenged with flashing eyes though her ears throbbed with the panicked beating of her heart.

His expression did not waver for once and he stood, towering over her tiny frame, calmly tying a knot to his toga bottom.

"Spent your whole life talking down to men." He added to no one in particular, as if reaffirming the fact to himself, that she was, indeed, Trojan royalty.

He knelt down beside her and she stiffened. Stopping her fidgeting at once, her heart seemed to come to a stop so sudden that her breathing ceased almost altogether. Brushing away the wet streaks on her face, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

Nothing could have prepared her for what he did next. Threading his fingers through a few locks of her hair, he gently lifted it to his face and breathed in its scent, before proceeding to let it slide through his fingers like flour in a sieve.

"You must be royalty." He concluded with a nod of his head, understated confidence accompanying it. He was right. And even if he was not, his tone implied that she was because he had said so.

She sat there on the ground, stunned and yet petrified by his actions. She did not know what to make of it. It was something lovers did, like how she had seen Hector do to Andromache's hair and Paris to Helen's. It was not something captors did to their captives. Just one simple action like that and he had her mind spinning.

He asked once more. "What is your name?" This time, more firmly.

"Even the servants of Apollo have names," he stated surely. From the amused glint in his eyes, Briseis knew he was confident he would soon receive her name.

She could not win this battle of words. Her eyes burning with curses for him, she felt her heart swell with a renewed detest for him. His reserved cockiness and arrogance to get his way made her hands itch to pull him apart.

"Briseis." She informed emotionlessly. How she wished she could have screamed in reply, but it was her name and she would not do it injustice by seeming to spit upon it.

Defeated once more, twice in one day, she slumped back against the hard pole and rested her weary head upon her shoulder. A tear slid down her cheek. She was sick of all this, sick of no rest and water, sick of having to have her guard up all the time.

_One day has not yet passed! Have you forgotten about Troy, or your brave cousins? _

_Hector!_ Her heart soared with new determination. He had always loved her like a sister; surely he would not lose faith so easily that she was still alive? He would come and save her, like he had done so often before!

Briseis shifted her weight around, stirring the numb bones in her body. She tensed, alert, ready for what he would next do.

Before she could even register what he might possibly want her to do, he had picked up a dull gold knife and bent down close to her. She wrestled and fought to get away, straining her head away from him, more tears pricking helplessly at her eyes.

But to her relief and amazement, he cut the ropes in one swift stroke, freeing her imprisoned wrists. Instinctively, she clutched them protectively in her hands, massaging and soothing the raw nerves with her fingers. She held them close to her chest, looking up to him suspiciously every now and then.

He returned her gaze with a steely, confident look in his eyes, but there was a milder look residing within.

No words of explanation came to answer her questions and he reached forward to cut the leather bounds on her feet.

"Are you afraid Briseis?" his voice came. This time, it came much closer than before and she turned to face him, her features drawn tight with defense. He had bent down beside her so now they were at eye level. His voice, she noted, was much softer than before, and they were so close, that she could feel the warm stickiness of his breath brush at her skin.

She shivered involuntarily, feeling uncertain.

"Should I be?" she bit back a little too loudly and strongly.

"What do you want here in Troy?" she asked bitterly before he could respond. "You didn't come for the Spartan Queen."

Slowly he turned to look at her, and she found herself gazing into those blue eyes, yet again wondering what emotions lay beneath his stone heart.

"What would all men want?" he murmured softly, "I just wanted more."

At his words she fell silent, not wanting to look into his eyes but yet unable to look elsewhere. Briseis continued rubbing her wrists, her mind in a state of confusion.

"You have nothing to fear from me. I will not harm you." He informed her stately, as though he was reciting from written words. But there was an evident tone of affirmation in his words and somehow, the anger in Briseis was quelled slightly.

"You are the only Trojan I can say that to." He added after a moment's thought and pause. Just as the words came out of his mouth, the leather flaps rustled once more and they both turned to see the intruder.

Briseis groaned softly, like a whisper the heat soon glazed over. Her head was starting to ache terribly. She did not want to think anymore! Everything had become so confusing, so twisted, so uncertain! She had awakened as the niece of Priam, cousin to Hector and Paris, assured in their protection and love, comforted by their presence. Now she would go to bed a slave girl, a whore to Greek enemies, and she would awake to a future that would be bleak and hopeless, to the ghost arms of a love that she would recall wistfully with sadness and heartbreak.

It was the same man whom had spoken to Achilles before he had entered. Briseis got a good look at him. He had raven black hair, thickly matted and twisted together and he wore a band of graying cloth around his forehead. His eyes were a deep blue. They were clear and striking but what would have once been youthful blue eyes sparkling with spirit and adventure, these blue eyes were now considerably dulled from the scars of constant battle.

Then he spoke cautiously, his words directed at Achilles.

"My Lord, King Agamemnon requests your presence immediately. The Kings are gathering to celebrate the victory."

Briseis peered at his face carefully, waiting for his reaction to an order, that was for once, meant for him. She squirmed and shifted uncomfortably as his gaze remained fixated on her and she tried to mask her discomfort with detest in her eyes.

Her feeling of discomfort and uneasiness did not cease and instead increased. It was not a lie that she detested him, hated him with all her might. _Then why did she feel like she was telling one with her eyes? _

"You fought bravely today." He said to him, looking back to face him before turning back towards her.

His clear blue eyes rested on her with much comfort and ease, she could tell. He was inspecting her, trying to understand, it seemed. But his eyes did not give him away, nor did his body language, and Briseis was again left to wonder for herself.

"My Lord…" the raven-haired man replied uncertainly.

"He can wait." Achilles shot back in a firm voice.

The man at the entrance nodded his head respectfully and disappeared in a crisp rustling of coarse leather.

Contradictory to his words, Achilles began to wipe himself in an orderly, quick manner and headed for the entrance, pulling on a black armor-like-vest.

"Stay in the tent, you'll be safe. You have my word." He ordered shortly, giving her a quick glance before he walked out in the midst of swaying leather flaps, his brilliant sword in tow.

Unless she was mistaken, and she desperately hoped she was, his eyes had beheld a stern kindness. Stern, but it was kindness nonetheless.

_Captors mistreat their captives! They are cruel! _Briseis tried to reason, tears dangerously close to pouring down her cheeks. _Being kind will benefit me! It will do me good! _

_……………………………………………._


	3. Three

…………………………………………

Briseis crawled to the far end of the tent and huddled in a corner, atop a soft pile of furs. She pulled her legs up against her chest, wrapping her arms around them tightly. Silent tears dripped down her face occasionally and when they did, she hurried to brush them away.

Tears were a sign of weakness. She had never forgotten those words ever since Hector had told her so.

_"When you cry, _he had said solemnly_, you open yourself up for attacks. People will see the weakness inside of you, for your tears flow hand in hand with your weaknesses. Then it will be easy for them to strike, because now you are vulnerable, blinded by the tears that drown your hope and courage. Therefore, Briseis, you mustn't cry, as when you do, you lose yourself and with that loss comes defeat. No daughter of Troy can be defeated, so you must remember to keep your tears within." _

Taking in a deep, shaky breath, she forced herself to smile, in the hope of banishing the thoughts that was slowly eating her away. She peered around the tent, exploring her new surroundings carefully. She saw where his armory and swords lay, glinting dully in the faint sunlight. Then she saw the small gold knife lying unnoticed to a corner, half hidden under a thick rug. Her eyes widened considerably, recognizing it as the knife Achilles had used to cut her bounds earlier on.

Briseis straightened, kneeling over cautiously, her gaze fixed on the entrance, her ears concentrating hard on the sounds from outside drifting in. Other than gruff deafening shouts, the never-ending, heavy stomps on the soft sand and the loud clangs of metal upon metal and metal upon wood, there was no sound of Achilles, or the raven-haired man. Neither was there footsteps heading for the entrance. The leather flaps swayed lazily in the thick breeze and nothing out of the ordinary broke the steady momentum of the workingmen.

Seeing this as a chance, as good as any she would ever get to plot her escape; she reached over the rugs and hastily snatched up the golden metal. She breathed out, not aware till then that she had been holding her breath.

With the cool metal in her hands, she felt invigorated, with a pulsing energy bubbling inside her. Briseis clutched the knife to her with firm hands, slowing her heavy breathing down as she tried to think how to proceed next.

Briseis thought frantically, afraid that at any moment she would be intruded. Searching the tent once more, she spotted a dark corner to the left of the pile of rugs and furs she was sitting on. Realization then dawned upon her that the pile of furs must be his bed, and Briseis scrambled to get off it, alarmed. She stared down at herself, feeling an invisible filth creep upon her. She trembled slightly.

Countless of women and whores had warmed that bed and many more sinful acts had taken place on it. She felt like dirt, having sat on it without knowing and taking strange comfort in its softness and luxury. Now she was beginning to feel like an ungodly, sinful whore, instead of the priestess she was because of it.

Her face glowed red with shame and fury. She hated it, she hated this feeling. It was like the plague, enveloping her till it would kill her. She wanted to get up and shake it off, scrub her skin till there was no more; but she could not. She had no more strength, only desperation. The threat of tears taunted her and she squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms against them till she felt her eyes relax once more.

_I am not a whore. And they can break my bones and take away my courage, but they will never break my spirit. And until they do so, _Briseis thought resolutely, _I will not allow myself to become one. _

Determined to keep her promise to herself, and determined to survive this ordeal, she held the heavy knife and wedged it in between two wooden crates in the dark corner. It was a good hiding place, for she would most likely sleep there tonight, seeing how there was no other suitable place. It was the only flat piece of ground left. His pile of rugs and furs took up most of the ground space and his armory, swords and crates of belongings took up the rest.

A secure feeling settled in her heart knowing that she had some form of protection now. She leaned against the two crates and hugged herself once more. She was still frightened, but now she had need to be brave and have even more courage, for she could escape as long as she could kill him. Briseis rested her weary head on her folded arms and slowly began to shut her eyes.

She knew she should not be resting, much less sleeping, now, in an enemy tent, but Achilles' promise had seemed sincere and she was too tired to evaluate it.

As her eyelids fluttered close and her breathing mellowed, there was a loud commotion outside and the leather flaps rustled endlessly as thunderous footsteps marked the entrance of Greek soldiers.

Her eyes flew open in fear and she pressed herself closer to the crates, hoping that the soldiers would not see her.

"Where is she?" a boorish voice roared ferociously. A shiver ran down her back and her blood raced with tension. _It is me they are after!_ A frightened scream threatened to make itself heard from the depths of her throat and Briseis stuffed her fingers in her mouth to stop it.

"Where is she? She is in the tent! Find her!" the same voice ordered, the tent walls seeming to shake from the deep rumble.

At his words, the sound of a hundred other footfalls erupted in the tent. Briseis gasped in shock, unable to control herself from shaking. She was trapped; they would surely find her with so many men! Powerless and helpless, unable to control the Fates from what she knew would happen next, she closed her eyes amidst the tears of terror streaming down and prayed.

But it seemed that even the Gods would not help her now. Her eyes closed, a calloused hand gripped her hair and pulled her up from the ground as she cried out in pain, not caring about the evident tears streaking her face. The pain was torturous and her head felt as though it were on fire.

"Ahh, we've found the wretched girl. Take her to King Agamemnon!" the soldier ordered treacherously, his eyes glinting like a mad man.

"Let me go, you brute!" Briseis spat at him through her tears. Her tiny hands fought with his large ones in an effort to get him to release her hair. She wrestled against him, kicking the metal guards on his shins as the vice-like grip on her hair tightened and the pain increased sharply.

He laughed viciously at her actions before throwing her to the pairs of soldiers standing before him. They caught her at once and held back her arms with overpowering strength, dragging her out the entrance as they strode through it. Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces and any trace of hope she held onto vanished into the air as she found herself heading towards her doom.

King Agamemnon was a cruel man and cruelty was, no doubt, what she would receive.

………………………………………………..

The raging overhead sun soon dried her tears, leaving sticky trails down her cheeks. Her eyes burned from the piercing sunlight and before long her eyesight seemed to have left her, and she only saw bright lights and moving blurred masses. The coarse sand that she had so often before buried her feet in, grazed her knees and shins as she was pulled through it and soon there was no feeling in them, only the occasional shot of intense pain that her body registered with irony.

_This was not supposed to happen. Things were not supposed to be this way._

A lump rose in her throat and remained there. She wanted to cry it all out, to hear Andromache's soft voice soothe and comfort her. Only this time there were no tears and there was no Andromache.

………………………………………………………….

Thank you very much for your reviews, it is greatly appreciated. This story will not follow the movie entirely; such as in speech and actions, but it will be very much alike, other than few minor changes.

And between wretch and wench, I think I'll use both.

Thanks a lot once again.


	4. Four

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Briseis struggled to raise her head up, her chest heaving with effort to take in a breath of air. She choked and a cough rose up from her lungs as she inhaled the dust the soldiers kicked up into her face with each step they took. The stale thick air entered her parched mouth and instead of easing her discomfort as she hoped it would, restricted her breathing even more. The fine dust seemed to stick onto the dry insides of her throat, and it constricted, leaving her in great agony. Briseis coughed hard, trying to expel the affliction from her tormented body. The harsh action caused her head to be thrown up and it fell back limply, jarring her throbbing head.

She let out an anguished cry, but it went unheard, drowned out by the reverberating monotony of footsteps. The blistering sun beat down on her scorching back and she felt as though she was on the verge of death.

_Is this how death feels like? Being tortured by Hades? _She despaired. _Not being able to see, hear and speak, but only know pain?_

Then the merciless sunlight disappeared, and in its place she sensed the cool darkness, tranquillizing her sore eyes and tender nerves. With the darkness came a soft cool breeze, washing over her heated skin like good medicine.

Briseis blinked her eyes, unaccustomed to the darkness and after a few moments, her eyesight returned. She gazed at the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to gain ground.

Numerous soldiers stood rigidly under a large expansive shelter, waiting in front of a large tent entrance. Loud, dignified voices resounded from within and judging from the many different ways of speech, there were many men inside, holding a meeting of some sort.

Looking about more carefully, Briseis saw that she was, in truth, on a huge wooden ship, one only used for the likes of royalty.

_Agamemnon. _The name hit her like a massive force and a shiver ran down her back. As much as she did not want to admit it, she _was_ Achilles war prize. And between him and Agamemnon, she would choose Achilles in a minute. She had heard stories of Agamemnon's cruelty, his consuming greed, his unfaithfulness to his wife, and his lack of regal mannerisms. In other words, he was a brute, unfit to be King.

The conversation in the tent came to a gradual stop and Briseis turned weakly in its direction. As she watched and waited, men dressed in finery and gold streamed out of the tent, low mutterings passed between them. They walked past her as though she was not there and faded out of sight into the beaming sunlight.

She noted each face as they brushed past her, old wrinkled faces creased with worry lines and mouths up turned in constant grumble and distain. But none of them Achilles. There was no flash of golden hair, strong sturdy strides and a smooth, bronze face colored with arrogance.

Her heart gave a grudging leap, somehow vaguely comforted by the fact that he might still be inside. Perhaps he would save her from Agamemnon.

_In this place of Greeks, I have no one else. _Briseis acknowledged reluctantly, a resigned frown appearing on her face. It stung that she had to depend upon an enemy to ensure her dignity and survival, but it would be foolishness to choose her pride over life.

When all the royal men and generals had gone, the Greek soldiers secured the grip on her arms and she was jerked up to her feet as they pulled her towards the entrance. Her arms were numb from their grasp and she struggled in their captivity, her legs kicking and flying with surprising force. Ignoring her shouts of protest and anger, they carried on. She found herself hauled up short wooden steps till she was thrown down on her knees when they came to a sharp halt.

Briseis glanced up at this new place, regarding it uncertainly.

They were in a sheltered tent, with wooden floors and gaudy ornaments displayed everywhere. Standing at a distance in front of her was Achilles, and a stout, well-fed, bearded man; Agamemnon. She stared at him with disgust and revulsion, hating the sight of him at once. With beady black eyes, thick graying hair and a mouth curled up in a sinister, triumphant smirk, he resembled not a King of Greece, but a crafty and shrewd merchant.

_He is no King! _She thought scathingly, thinking about Troy and her uncle Priam. _Greece will fall in the hands of this man!_

She shifted her gaze discretely onto Achilles, and was taken aback at the intense anger and rage in his eyes. He stood, tense and boiling with hatred, cutting a striking figure with his black attire.

Her flow of thoughts was broken abruptly as her head was jerked up in a violent manner. Knowing that she could not fight their strength with her feeble one, she masked her growing panic with a look of bravery and resilience, hoping that in time she would _feel_ that way.

Her attention was averted back to Achilles when she heard the sharp rasp of a sword running against its sheath. Her eyes dilated with horror and her heart felt as though it would explode any moment from sheer anxiety. His eyes were deadly grave and she struggled to keep her defiant demeanor, fearfully awaiting the blade of the knife against her neck.

_You fool! This man has killed hundreds, if not thousands and would not give a second thought about a mere girl!_

Then he spoke, his voice tight and firm, strung with controlled wrath. His jaw clenched fiercely, his eyes cool but piercing.

"No argument with you brothers, but if you don't release her, you'll never see home again. Decide!" His words were final, and he swung out his sword staunchly, pointing it menacingly at the stricken soldiers.

"Guards!" Agamemnon roared in response to his threat. His face had grown red, his chest heaving in anger. He kept his gaze moving back and forth, from the guards to Achilles, but dared not take a step in either direction.

Stunned to silence at his words, her legs gave away, and she hung, limp like a wet leaf, on the soldiers support. Briseis waited to see what would happen next, sucking in her breath nervously. The soldiers did not release her, but their grip had loosened measurably.

_They fear Achilles more than their King, but dare not show such audacity in his presence,_ slowly beginning to understand the way of things.

Then, like a roaring fire, his eyes blazed with anger and more anger. He would not stand to have anyone, _anyone_, much less a man like Agamemnon, touch her and mistreat her. She was his, and no one else's.

"Step aside." He ordered through gritted teeth.

His words seemed like a candle in the darkness, and in that short pause, she saw what this whole foreplay was about, and everything as it truly stood for. This was not about her mistreatment, or a twisted way of showing he cared. This was between two men, fighting over a woman to prove their power and status. It was a battle of pride, sparked off by one that had been injured. It was not about her; she was just a mere property in their eyes, not a mortal worthy of choice and say. She was just an opportunity that presented itself, one, which each opponent had taken to their advantage in hope to gain an upper hand.

_I will not allow this to ensue any further! Two men's foolish pride is not worth slain lives!_

"Stop!"

He froze to slide his gaze upon her and felt the gazes of Agamemnon and the soldiers rest upon her shoulders as well. "Too many men have died today!" she went on with paced urgency, becoming more incensed with each word she spoke.

"If killing is your only talent, then it is your curse," Briseis proceeded, turning to look directly into Achilles burning eyes. She lowered her voice darkly. "I don't want anyone dying for me!" Each word rolled off her tongue dripping with venom and she bristled. She was angered greatly. Never before had she felt so foolish, so insulted. They had managed to inflict the worst wound they could upon her without their knowing.

_If all these men only know how to kill, then I pity them, for they know nothing! Blood shed cannot be repaid! _

Then, to her immense relief and astonishment, Achilles slid the sword back in its sheath with a forceful push of his hand and straightened up. His eyes glazed with frustration, he was seething, though bound to her words. He wanted badly to free her, but her words had held too much truth. He could not have killed the men knowing it was against her wishes.

Briseis was thankful, thankful for his actions, though why he did so remained unclear. She still trembled with fire, but she was thankful he had spared more lives. He was a strange man, a very strange man. His actions contradicted whom he was, how he was supposed to behave. She did not understand him, but she was grateful to him, for she knew he did not need to heed the words of a Trojan priestess and give the King more reason to celebrate any further.

"Mighty Achilles! Silenced by a slave girl!" Agamemnon leered, basking in his timely victory, goading in his triumph; seemingly oblivious to the dark stares he was receiving from Achilles.

"Tonight I think I'll have her bring me a bath," he continued in a silky tone, his complacency filling her with detest, while his words began to strike a terrible fear in her.

As he spoke he walked up to her and reached out for her hair with a ring-adorned hand. Briseis moved her head back sharply in a bid to get away from him, but he carried on, a greasy sick sneer on his face, and held up her hair to smell it. Her stomach churned and flipped as he did so, and she yearned for nothing more than to lunge out at him.

_No, both of them!_

"And then, who knows?" Agamemnon finished on a taunting note, delighting in the internal anguish he was inflicting upon Achilles.

She jerked her head away from him, loathing his very being. Inside, she feared greatly, but she would not show it.

"You sack of wine!" Achilles spat furiously, striding fiercely around. He walked up to Agamemnon and at his height, towered over him. Abomination was written clearly on his features, and at that moment, he was the very spirit of hatred itself.

"Before my time is done, I will look down on your corpse and smile." His words uttered ominously, and the dark aura of his threat settled upon the room as he took a final look at Agamemnon, then Briseis, and left in a whirl of black.

Agamemnon paled and the pompous expression he wore disappeared as he registered his words. After a long pause, he regained his composure and turned his attention onto her. His eyes glittered superiority but he was undeniably less cocky than before.

"You girl, have become very useful. _Very useful indeed_. Who would have thought that a Trojan whore would be the great Achilles' weakness?"

He laughed jeeringly, pleased and excited with his discovery. With her as his captive, he could manipulate Achilles to do as he wished. She was a gift to Greece indeed; for she would help them win this war.

"I am not a whore." Briseis hissed angrily. _No man would ever use that title upon her!_

A heavy hand came up to meet her face and she staggered back from the impact. Then he gripped her chin fiercely, pulling her face close to his.

He hissed in a low, slow voice. "You may not be one now, girl, but before the third day comes, you will be."

And before she could say another word, he had ordered his soldiers to tie her beside his chair, adding that no food or water would be given to her. Her heart thumped rapidly, defeated by the unfairness of it all. Inwardly, she laughed at her innocence, her naivety.

_After all, I am a captive and this is how they are treated. _

But with Achilles, there was respect, and with Agamemnon, there was brutality.

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Thank you for all your reviews once more.


	5. Five

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Achilles marched stonily past the countless men, his eyes black with dark ire. His roaring anger had cooled off, but the essence of it remained in him. His powerful strides on the soft sand marked his presence, and the working procession of men hurried to part when he neared. In any occasion, no man would do well to stand in the great Achilles way. And now, with the black fury evident in his eyes, it would mean death to any man who was foolish enough not to recognize it.

The Greek soldiers stared at his passing back with well-placed fear and caution. Nothing had ever made the impassive man burn with such rage. 

As soon as he passed each one, it was only a few tense moments before they returned to their work, heads bent conscientiously, for fear that he would sense their curious eyes and lead to the undesirable situation where they would incur his wrath.

He did not see their fearful expressions or take note of their actions. To him, it had simply become natural for men to part in his presence. He did not acknowledge them, nor feel strengthened by the mere reaction his presence had caused.

He walked, swift and fast, his determined strides cutting through the thick heatedness. In no time he reached the end of the beach, one reserved only for him and the Myrmidons. There was no written rule which entitled his privacy and space, but an unspoken one. And thus all the men stayed clear of it, for it was safer to observe the way of things and follow, than to read and disobey.

He brushed past Eurdorus, who had been waiting patiently for his arrival with an anxious look upon his face. With the intention of informing Achilles that his war prize had been snatched away, his creased features gradually ceased to be as he caught sight of his face. Knowing then that Achilles knew of the seizure, he stepped back respectfully and went off to warn the rest of the Myrmidons that the great Achilles would be best left alone today.

Pushing aside the leather flaps to his tent in a boorish manner, Achilles entered. With rough fingers, he undid his top and fell back onto the pile of furs. The fine smooth hairs clung to his sticky skin and his chest was tight with irritation and frustration. He let out a growl.

Having an urge to go back to Agamemnon and give him the killing he deserved, he picked up a ceramic plate lying next to him and flung it on the ground. It smashed into fragments of earth colored pieces and the few grapes that it held lay split upon the floor.

Achilles curled his fists into a tight ball, leaning back dejectedly against the tent. He closed his eyes wearily, anger welling inside him as he thought of the girl.

_Briseis. _

_Ignorant fool!_ She could have escaped from Agamemnon's wily clutches had she not been so honorable, so self-sacrificial. Three Greek lives were nothing when there were thousands, millions more! He sighed helplessly.

_What could he do when she would not allow anything to be done?_ He groaned inwardly at how one Trojan girl had rendered him helpless. No man, giant, nor King could boast of such a feat, and to think that a mere priestess had unknowingly succeeded in doing so!

Picking up a flask of wine beside him, he immersed himself in drinking, a temporary healing that softened his pain and blurred his troubled thoughts.

His mind wandered back to her once more, finding himself unable to detach himself from her. In the few short hours of gaining her, he had become so deeply entrenched in her fiery spirit, her royal pride, sense of honor and duty, and her arrogance and dignity. He could not put his finger upon anything particular that made him so attracted to her, so curious.

Of course, she was beautiful in her flesh and face. It was not a womanly-matured beauty, one that was so capable of seduction and coyness. _No._

Her beauty was pure and innocent. One that could burn an impression in a memory forever, or just leave a mild mark of its presence, but yet its touch would not be forgotten because it left a yearning for more.

He wanted to find out who she was and what lay beneath the façade she set up around herself. It was what drew him to her, regardless of whether she was present before him or not.

Because something had tamed in him when her eyes had met with his. Something about her caused him to forget the brutal way of life he lived, where men died and fell with the wind.

She held a truth in her that he wanted to free, because he had gotten a glimpse of the other things life held that he had so forcefully pushed out of his heart.

He had seen happiness, joy, honor, respect, family, contentment, freedom and love.

_No, it's not just an attraction. It's a need. _He realized resignedly. _I need her. _

It was not just for physical pleasure and satisfaction, not merely lust and passion. He felt no remote sense of love for her. It was a selfish desire on his part, a naïve hope that maybe she could help heal the emotional wounds within him, help him acquire peace. He rested his head wearily on his shoulders, his grip on the goblet tightening so. Frustrated and confused, he could find no resolution to alleviate the anguish. He flung the goblet up in a brusque movement and watched the pale red liquid rose out in a smooth curve, splashing lightly on the earth surface when it fell.

As he stared at the earthen ground drink up the rich liquid rapidly, he began to laugh. His laughter filled the tent, but it was not laughter that rang out in joyous tones of happiness. It was bitter, but sweet in its bitterness.

He laughed softly in the lonely silence, finding it almost unbelievable at the state he was reduced to.

_A wreck because of a virgin priestess. What have you become? A mere mortal?_

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I hope you like this. I thought that you guys might want to see something short about his thoughts, instead of just hers. I really don't know what to make of this chapter, I think it's a little odd but please give me your comments. Thanks.


	6. Six

Briseis lifted her head up towards the Greek men who had just entered. Evening had fallen upon the land and torches of fire had been lit and placed about the room. The warm hues of light flickered gently and cast indistinguishable shadows on the cloth walls. From her position next to Agamemnon's seat, she could not make out the identities of the men from their faces, but she could differentiate their voices. There were three voices, three men. Their words were harsh and their movements sharp and jerky.

An oily slick voice told her Agamemnon was present but the other two voices carried no sense of familiarity with her. She could not make out their talk, for her mind was not clear.

She was tired, so tired. So worn out from the day's events that her vision was failing her. She wanted sleep and even if she did not, her body was persistent in its desire for rest. Her eyelids were weighing down heavily on her eyes but she struggled to keep them open.

_I cannot fall asleep. I must stay awake, for if I sleep, I may never see morning again. _She repeated in her head, but even her determined spirit had grown weary.

Earlier in the day, when she caught herself nodding of to blissful sleep, her eyes would spring open, alarmed. But now when the darkness had begun to entice her with its peaceful slumber, her senses had become less alert. Almost every part of her no longer held any restrictions against rest, and the only thing that stopped her from giving in to the temptation was hunger.

Agamemnon had been true to his words and she had not received a single morsel of food the entire day. Apart from the thin breakfast she had partaken in this morning, she had not eaten anything since. The intense hunger pains were sharp enough to arouse her from her dazed stupor.

The only things she now saw were dark shapes looming in and out and bright lights wavering lightly. She hung her head against her shoulder, shifting her stiff legs softly. Her wrists and ankles were cut badly; her excessive struggling in the afternoon only resulted in the coarse rope slicing through the fresh wounds she had earlier acquired. She was certain they were inflamed and swollen, for the ropes seemed to be tighter.

Then the rough voices neared her and stopped abruptly. She raised her head slowly, her heartbeat accelerating. Briseis sensed danger; it was too strange for the voices to stop so suddenly. She blinked fast, wanting to see clearly again, forcing her drooping eyelids up.

Like an eagle swooping in on its ignorant prey, a huge hand flew at her throat and grasped its fingers around her neck. With a mighty push upwards, she was pulled up to her feet, the sides of her arms searing against the wooden pole. Briseis gasped, choking as the hold on her throat threatened to cut off her breathing. Writhing awkwardly and gulping for air, her insides shivered with trepidation. Her heart had nearly jumped out when that hand clutched her throat, and in this new state of danger, her senses had awakened with a jolt.

She eyed him hatefully out of the corner of her eye, lifting her head up to fight for breath.

"You savage!" Briseis choked out spitefully. "Greece deserves no…King…like you!"

She stared at him straight in the eye, where a fire burned dangerously in his. Agamemnon raised his other hand and she braced herself for the impending abuse. She gritted her teeth, knowing full well that she could not win this one.

Determined to fall with dignity, she raised her chin up stately, glaring staunchly at the three enemies before her.

"Watch your words, girl," Agamemnon snarled, his fist curled into a ball under her chin. "Be careful you don't go too far!"

"I shall have no barbarian direct my manner of speech!" she hurled at him, trembling with rage.

"Then," He replied, nodding to the two men beside him, who at once knelt to free her bounds. "I'll just have to see what you make of the men, and what they make of you!"

He sneered evilly when he saw her eyes fly open in horror. He had no patience for such a wild fiery girl. When the men were done with her, she would come crawling back like a beggar, beaten and broken!

At his words, her heart had plummeted down and throbbed painfully, as though it had been stabbed. And if indeed someone had rushed at her with a knife, it would not cause as much fear to surface as Agamemnon's words had. Her eyes stung hotly, and she suppressed the tears.

As the two men dragged her out of the room, she wanted to collapse on the ground and cry out to Apollo. But she gazed emptily at the passing surroundings; her eyes only wide open with fear and her mouth slightly open in a silent scream.

The Greek soldiers would break her and kill her spirit, she knew. There was no denying or fighting against this fact.

_Then there will be no more, nothing left._ She murmured blankly in her mind as a warm tear slid down her cheek.

All too shortly, the men stopped in their tracks, viewing the scene before them with malicious grins. Slowly they turned to face her and her eyes widened in an urgent plea, ignoring her pride and dignity. Briseis shook her head fearfully, desperate to get away.

With their grins stretching wider in a sick expression of delight, they flung her to the crowd of men drinking and talking loudly in callous tones.

Her face hit the soft sand and she made to get up, hoping that she could leave unharmed in the confused and rowdy mess. But drinking had only served to heighten their lust and lecherous thoughts and they seized her as a timely opportunity.

Now the tears ran freely down her face, and she sobbed and screamed despairingly, circled and enclosed by the raving hordes of men. She stumbled about in the soft sand, crying out in helplessness as she was pushed and tossed in various directions around the circle.

"Stop! Stop this!" Briseis pleaded hoarsely. The rough men squeezed and groped her everywhere, tugging at her torn robes, running their grimy hands up and down her exposed flesh.

Escaping from their clutches was not possible. The men out matched her in strength and determination, while hers was rapidly weakening. Gasping sharply as her arms were twisted back, she regarded the advancing crowd. A wrangled scream emitted from her as the two men holding her started pulling at her hair and sliding their hands in places that made her squirm with anguish to be freed from such torture.

Her face prickled with heat and thick warm blood oozed down her nose from a fresh wound while salty tears mixed with sweat trickled into the crook of her mouth.

"Hold still, you wench! Trojan whore!" A soldier spat, igniting a loud roar of verbal abuse upon her.

Suddenly an unknown source of anger rose up in her. All the emotions and feelings that had welled within her exploded and she wrenched her arm back and drew her hand across the soldier's face in a ringing slap. Barely having time to register her actions though astounded at the force of her slap, the outraged soldier caught her arms once more.

Her struggling grew more frantic and desperate as she watched a Greek soldier approach her with a glowing red branding stick. His twisted sinister grin loomed before her eyes but she remained rooted on the ground, unable to break free.

_Hector! Paris! _She gasped, feeling herself grow faint as a wave of complete exhaustion swept through her.

Then the man was gone, branding stick snatched from his hand, writhing in agony on the sand. Her arms were flung free and she collapsed onto the soft ground, the breath almost knocked out of her.

And in the midst of the chaos, rang a great cry.

"Achilles!"

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Thanks for your lovely reviews. I appreciate them a lot. I have added something that I had previously forgotten to add in Chapter Five, during the last few paragraphs. It is important, though not necessary that you read them, because then you will know where she stands with him. It is not love yet, is the point I want to emphasize. Thanks very much once more. Hope you like this.


	7. Seven

Briseis looked upon the scene before her in silence, her eyes half-closed. Her body was so battered and bruised; it felt impossible to get up. Lying down, it was as though all the exhaustion had sunk into her body and pushed the air out of her. She watched numbly as Achilles struck down men with the branding stick, still glowing red hot from the fire. He moved with precision, striking down the men before him, his eyes burning with infuriation. His skillful inflictions turned the branding stick into a deadly weapon.

_Because of me? Or his pride? _A thought filtered through her mind but thinking about it only worsened her headache and she pushed it aside.

With her face half buried under the fine sand, she could taste the salty grittiness in her mouth. Her breathing was soft and ragged and she curled her fingers around the tiny grains. The soft sand was so comforting to her wrecked body and finally her eyes closed, she did not care anymore. The shouts and noise around her carried on but she no longer focused on it, the only thing her heard was her slow breathing.

She opened her eyes slowly as she felt her limp body being lifted off the ground, the sand on her dress spilling off softly. And she found herself lying in the arms of Achilles, the cool material of his top pressing against her cheek. She let out a startled murmur, but the faint rasp that she made went unnoticed. Briseis raised her eyes up slightly to him; his eyes were hard and cold and they stared straight at the vast black sea ahead.

Almost instantly she lowered her eyes again, afraid that he would catch her gaze. She did not need to deal with an uncomfortable moment in this already uncomfortable situation she was in.

Gradually she found herself lost in her own world, slipping in and out of reality and her own thoughts. Her eyes almost closed, she stared at the material of his top, feeling the warmness of his body through it. Her fingers brushed lightly over the coarse cloth before she caught herself and dropped her hand. Her thoughts were muddled and confused; she did not know what to think of Achilles and she was unsure of what stand to take. For certain she would never give in but she was uncertain as to thank him, cooperate with him, or to continue with her plan and kill him.

Soon, with the gentle bounce that she felt with each firm stride he took, she was lulled into an unsettled sleep. As she her eyes finally fluttered shut, she felt him shift and his gaze beared down on hers. His arms tightened measurably, pressing her tightly against his chest. The taunt, leathery feel of his arm lay next to her cheek while his fingers had gained a protective hold about her waist.

Briseis wanted to protest and shake him off, but at that moment, seeing the strange soothing aquamarine blue staring back at her and huddled securely in his strong arms, she surrendered to the ironic comfort of this moment, and rested with her frail body enveloped in the safety of his presence.

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Thank you for your reviews. This is a short chapter, unfortunately, but I have just returned to school and it has been terribly hectic. I hope this is enough till the weekend comes. So sorry for such a long wait. Thank you.


	8. Eight

Slowly she awoke to the same soft bouncing that had caressed her to sleep. Briseis stirred in her stiff position, her head curling in slightly. The sore spots on her body gave occasional sharp jabs of pain shooting up her and so she stilled, murmuring incomprehensible sounds as she tucked her head deeper into the warm crook of the arm she was resting on.

Her fingers grasped lightly at the coarse cotton they found and she placed it on the soft heat of his chest, unknowingly stroking it softly with her fingers.

As she did so, the bouncing ceased and the faint thuds on the sandy ground faded away. A sense of uneasiness crept through her sleep-filled limbs and she opened her eyes warily. The first thing she saw was just black and more black, and the undulating texture of cotton cloth. The she moved her eyes upward, seeing fine bronze skin dotted with gold flecks and lean muscles pulsing underneath.

Startled and uncertain at the current situation, she turned sharply and faced up. There, a strangely comforted and softened face stared back at her, a face with sculpted features and familiar piercing blue orbs.

Briseis froze instinctively, memories from moments and days before coursing back in a racing rush of blood to her head.

A painful anguish tugged at her heart for some unknown reason and more than anything else, she wanted to raise her hand to his cheek, which was glowing dimly in the moonlight, and feel for herself how he felt like. It would be, perhaps, the closest thing to a god that she would ever touch.

Her eyes were locked with his, a grave clear cerulean laced with slight amusement. She could see the dancing surprise and disconcerted marvel beneath them, drawing her deeper into an unwanted trance. Briseis breathed slowly, aware that her heart was, to her dismay and frustration, thumping rapidly in her ears. She made no move as Achilles inched his fingers higher up her waist, stiffening as the firm presses left a burning trail behind. Her stomach muscles clenched tightly, afraid yet somehow curious of what he would do next.

When painful knot in her stomach seemed to have reached its peak and her breathing almost non-existent, his fingers stopped and began to carefully draw her closer to him.

Her heart gave an unexpected jolt and started up its quick rhythm again. Slowly Briseis looked up, full of question as to what he was doing. He did not notice her at first, caught up in gathering the torn strips of her dress around her exposed skin, before glancing at her. Instantly the indecipherable blue swirl cleared and was replaced by another pool of emotions.

And for that short second, he was mortal.

_You are foolish, Briseis! He was mortal all along. You know he is no god. _

But then, there was no other way to describe it. He was no god; he lived not in the heavens above, nor wielded powers of immortality. He was mortal, like any man on earth; of flesh, blood and bone.

But, somehow, he was not just mere mortal either. His strides were coupled with a confidence and arrogance that easily matched those of the gods, his speech devastatingly simple yet greater meaning was concealed within. And most of all, there were those eyes. Cold, hard, unnerving stone, like the heartless soul of beaten and weathered man.

Briseis pushed the thought away, thrown even more off balance at what she _thought _she had seen. For that instant he suddenly seemed real, as though there was truly a possibility that there might be _someone_ underneath all the layers.

To her relief, he broke the lingering gaze between them and she lowered her eyes down, staring ahead at the black sea. Then he resumed his strides, and nothing more passed between them. There was a precarious safety in his arms that only added to the growing load on her mind. Briseis stared despondently at the blackness, thoughts swirling in her head like an angry sea.

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They arrived at his resting grounds in quick time and Briseis hurriedly tried to etch out the grounds before her in her memory. In time, an opportunity to escape might come, and if it did, she had to be ready.

A cluster of well-built men huddling by a small fire rose at once and an unidentifiable figure came up to meet him. The darkness shrouding his face cleared as he stepped into the moonlight and Briseis recognized him as the raven-haired man.

"Eudorus." _So that was his name._ Achilles continued. "I will require a basin of water and some cloths. Find a clean robe and pass it to me."

"Yes my Lord." Eudorus said quietly with a polite nod before rushing off to a nearby tent.

In two long strides they reached his tent, and he bent down carefully to enter through. The action pressed her tighter to him and feeling suffocated and smothered by the close proximity they were in, Briseis struggled slightly, kicking her legs in protest to be let down.

Once he had managed to get in, he knelt down slowly by the pile of furs and withdrew his arms from her. Immediately she crawled backwards to the edge of the tent, drawing her knees to her chest. Briseis glared at him heatedly, suddenly furious at his actions; the cause of all the unnecessary turmoil in her.

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Thank you for all the reviews once more. I am so sorry for not updating sooner. School has really begun to take its toll. Hope you like this.


	9. Nine

In a few moments, Eudorus entered the tent, carefully steadying a large bronze basin of water in his hands. A sandy brown cloth with plain embroidery hung on one arm while a thick strip of cotton cloth dangled on the other.

He set down the basin and hung the strip of cloth on the edge and turned to pass Achilles the long brown cloth. With the usual nod, he left the tent noiselessly.

Briseis busied herself with her hands, pressing her fingers against the cuts on her wrists, stopping the bleeding. Her head was turned away from him and she could feel his intent gaze on her, eating at her. It was making her heart beat faster and faster and her stomach churned with partial irritation and partial hunger.

Finally she could take it no longer and looked up to meet his gaze with burning bitterness.

It piqued her even further when he continued to meet her stormy looks with one of absolute calm and control. Briseis did not break the gaze, her hatred growing as each silent moment passed.

He bent his head down slightly to loosen the ties on his sandals but his eyes remained fixed on her, with undertones of amusement that irritated her more.

Then he moved over to where the bronze basin sat and dropped the cotton strip into the clear water, soaking it with his hands.

"Are you hurt?" He questioned, glancing up at her. "You fought back…you have courage."

Briseis hardened her gaze at him. _Need he ask if she were hurt?_

'To fight back when people attack me?" she stated with a bitter laugh. "Even a dog has that kind of courage!" she spat.

Achilles gave her a brief glance that seemed to hold more than he would reveal before turning back to his task. Lifting the dripping cloth from the water, he wrung it tightly with his hands and reached forward towards her. The wet cloth came close to her face, where a small gash next to her nose oozed with crimson liquid.

Shooting him a look of resentment and suspicion, she hit at his outstretched arm and pushed it away from her. His steely gaze of beguilement seemed to imply that he was entertained by her antics and it only served to irk her further.

Clearly not backing down, Achilles reached forward once more to clean the blood off her nose but she pushed his advancing hand away.

Briseis eyed him angrily, wishing he would stop. She did not understand him.

Achilles threw the wet cloth at her, finally realizing she would not let him touch her and stared coolly back at her. She looked at him furiously before throwing the cloth back at him.

The same thing went on for a few moments, and the solemnity in his eyes slowly began to fade away. Briseis threw the cloth back at him again and expected the cool wetness to come into contact with her skin again, but instead Achilles placed the cloth back in the water. Giving her another brief glance, he walked over to where a bowl of fruits and bread lay and picked it up, setting it on the floor near her.

He sat down comfortably and began to eat. After regarding him cautiously for a few moments, Briseis crawled to the basin and wrung the water out of the soaking cloth.

Feeling the cool liquid against her heated skin quelled her slightly and carefully she dabbed lightly at her cut, wincing slightly as it stung with pain. After the cut had been cleaned up, she lifted the hair that was covering part of her face to reveal another bleeding cut at her brow.

Achilles stopped eating and stared at her, a hint of concern in his eyes. But in the flickering firelight, she could not be sure.

Then he picked up the food-laden bowl and set it closer to her.

"Eat." He ordered in a firm tone.

After a short hesitation at his invitation, she plucked a ripe grape from the bowl and started to bite, savoring the rich sweetness that soothed her parched throat.

"I've known men like you my whole life." She found herself saying.

"No, you haven't." he replied smoothly.

She knew he was right; she had not met anyone like Achilles before, but since she had started it, she would be the one to win this time.

"You think you're so different from a thousand others?" she bit back, a fire in her brewing up. "Those who understand nothing but war? Peace confuses them."

His reply was one that she did not expect and took her by surprise. Instead of a cool statement to rival hers, he questioned in a softer tone. "And you hate these soldiers?"

"I pity them." She answered.

He eyed her mindfully, before saying, " Trojan soldiers die trying to protect you. Perhaps they deserve more than your pity."

Briseis could not think of anything to say to his words. She found herself silenced because his words had held truth in them. Truth that she had always been too blind and even too proud to see.

"Why did you choose this life?" she asked quietly.

"What life?"

"To be a great warrior."

There was no hesitation, so sure was his answer, his conviction. "I chose nothing. I was born, and this is what I am. Why have you chosen to love a god? I would think you'd find the romance…one sided." He looked at her, and this time she was certain that a spark of mirth and amusement was dancing in those unnatural blue eyes of his.

"Do you enjoy provoking me?" she asked him. There was no other reason as to the cleverly crafted questions of his.

He did not answer." You…your life to the gods. Zeus; god of thunder, Athena; goddess of wisdom. You serve them." He stated plainly to her.

"Yes, of course." Her voice was strong and certain, but in her heart she was wondering desperately what he was going to do next.

"And Aries, god of war? Who blankets his bed with the skin of men he's killed?" There was a polite edge in his voice and he knew he had gained the upper hand once more.

"All the gods must be feared and respected." Briseis replied without hesitation. It was what the Trojan priests had drilled into her head everyday and right now, the only thing she had left to cling onto was her faith. She could not let that fall.

Achilles looked at her for a long moment, as though searching for something only he knew existed.

"I'll tell you a little secret," he said after the pause. " Something they don't tell you at your temple. The gods; they envy us because we're mortal. Because every moment might be our last, everything seems more beautiful because we are doomed." He paused again, looking up at her and bending in closer to her.

"You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again." He voice seemed hushed into a soft, almost caressing murmur. Briseis breathed softly, looking at his face.

His skin so gold and bronzed by the sun, unmarred by scars, only the few creases induced by the harsh heat. His features were god-like, fine and chiseled. And his blue eyes had her lost in them.

She did not know it then, but at that moment, she gave in. And along with her strong will, went her heart.

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Thank you for your reviews once more. I hope you like this. I have recently posted a Hector/Andromache story as well. I would greatly appreciate it if you were to read and review that too, although you are not obliged to do so in any way. Thank you all the same.


	10. Ten

Briseis swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat, at the same time pushing down the strange swelling in her heart. She reached out again for another grape, inwardly startled and annoyed to find that her hands were trembling slightly. Biting carefully into the plump fruit, she murmured softly.

"I thought you were a dumb brute," Her voice resonated clearly between them. She paused as Achilles facial expression stiffened slightly, his eyes boring into hers for more explanation.

Turning her eyes down quickly, she added, this time her voice lower than before. "I could have forgiven a dumb brute."

Focusing all her attention onto that one grape, she ate it slowly, the lack of response from him making her question her words. Finally the grape was gone and she had could do nothing but look up. He was not looking at her though, but instead sharpening his dagger and spear.

The jarring sounds of hard metal scraping against stone continued into the night. No more words interrupted the continuous rhythm and finding herself feeling increasingly insecure, Briseis gradually fell into a restless sleep, huddled in a tiny corner of the tent.

……………………………..

Suddenly her eyes flew open, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest in loud, heavy beats. Still lying down, curled up, Briseis looked around her, seeing a faint velvet darkness enveloping the tent, feeling the cold sea breeze swirl gently about her.

When her breathing had mellowed, she sat up quietly, turning around cautiously to look for Achilles. There he was, lying rigidly on his back upon a thick pile of mats. A thin silk cloth of dark blue covered his waist and torso, but apart from that he was bare. A pale shaft of moonlight sifted through the leather flaps, illuminating his gleaming tanned skin.

He seemed to be dead; lying untouched, unarmed and unawares. Everything seemed to have tamed in him, except for the firm, stiff exterior outside. Only the gentle rise and fall of his chest spoke of the life within him.

Briseis could not take her eyes off him. There was something about him that drew her to him then; the vulnerability and innocence his face seemed to exude then, the strength and power in his stilled muscles. It was like a mirage, she could not tell what was real and what was not, almost as if she was in a dream.

She began to move, all her thinking and reasoning leaving her. She could not remain this way, increasingly drawn into him till she would lose sight of what was truly important; Troy and her honor.

Briseis saw the dim gleam of the gold dagger she had hidden before, and moving silently towards it, she wedged it out of the crevice, clutching the cold metal in her sweaty palms. She had to kill him, now, while such an opportunity presented itself to her, to kill off Greece's hope for victory, to secure Troy's safety, the safety of her family, and to ensure the her own sanity.

She did not think then, of the consequences after she killed him, how she would escape from the men's trained eyes and ears. All she could think of, was to kill off this threat that would soon overtake her whether she wanted him to or not.

Crawling her way towards his sleeping body, she drew herself up beside him, positioning the knife above him, her face staring down at his. She breathed out shakily and raised her hands to strike. Barely a hair's breadth away from his throat, her hand stopped.

_No!_ Her heart seemed to be telling her.

Her heartbeat quickened, it's raging beat like a war cry coursing through her. Her heart and mind were at conflict. At that all-important moment of decision and strength, her heart had betrayed her, revealing what she truly wanted to do.

_Do it!_ Her thoughts screamed at her. Her grasp on the hilt tightened and her knuckles turned white. Briseis pressed the knife harder against his throat, the sound of her breathing filling her ears.

She had to do it now. He would wake up from sound of her breathing and the pounding of her heart, and catch her ready to kill him. Achilles would surely unarm her and fling her aside, and then he would give her to the hungry men before killing her.

"Do it."

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest, and her eyes flew wide open. His eyes had opened without warning and now the frozen blue was boring holes in her.

Briseis opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again soundlessly. Her fingers curled tighter around the slim hilt, and the feel of something deadly and hard in her hands only made everything seem so painfully real. She did not want to choose like this, because she knew what her decision would be.

Unknowingly his hands had creped up and found hers. She started at the forcefulness of his coarse hands around hers, pressing the blade harder against his throat. Her eyes flew to his, shocked at his reaction.

His cold blue eyes stared back. "Nothing is easier."

His voice was surprisingly gentle, with no trace of hate or disgust in his tone.

"Aren't you afraid?" she asked, her trembling voice sounding distant and weak in her ears.

"Everyone dies," he replied with indifference, his eyes impassive and nonchalant. "Be it today or fifty years, what does it matter?"

_He wants me to do it_.

Briseis stared at him, at this point of time unable to do anything, much less think clearly and rationally. His hands shot up to grasp her arms and he pulled her further down and by doing so, pressed the dagger dangerously hard on his throat.

"Do it." he ordered tersely.

"You'll kill many more men if I don't kill you," Briseis heard herself say, the words sounding strange and unfamiliar to her.

"Many," he reaffirmed.

The resolute confirmation in his words brought her wild thoughts and desperate wishes crashing back upon her, and her eyes focused in on his face, now in such close proximity with hers that she could hear his calm breathing and feel their warm breaths against her face.

Briseis searched his eyes, almost pleading for some way out of this mess that she had created. Wondering, asking if dying was what he really wanted. Searching for an answer as to what she should do. Still his blue eyes remained hard and indecipherable.

But in her heart she knew the answers. She could not kill him; her heart had decided upon that even before she had instigated this plan to kill him.

But then, what could she do now? _Drop the knife and what? _

Before she could think anymore, he had swiftly flipped her on her back, the dagger still pressed perilously close on his skin. His heavy weight was upon her, his body covering her tiny frame. His body pressed on hers, and she could feel the sticky heat radiate from his body. The solid, warm pressure of his body on hers caused an eruption of sensations within her that she had long thought were dormant. Her breathing became more labored, her heart beating so fast she could not hear nor feel it anymore. His face looked down at hers, so near that she could see every line and hair on it.

Then, slowly, he bent down and began to kiss her. His blue eyes never left hers as he brought his lips down to meet hers, and its expression never changed, only when his lips touched hers, did an indistinguishable hint of a smile appeared in them. His lips were so warm and soft, lingering with the bittersweet taste of wine and grapes. He kissed her softly; over and over again, capturing her lips with his, before slowly beginning to ravage her with powerful, heated kisses filled with passion and want.

Her mind was overtaken completely by the taste and feel of him, the insanely want and need for more. From somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she heard the heavy thud of the dagger sliding from her fingers onto the ground. But all that was ignored as his kisses began to fill her with an unquenchable thirst for more and she kissed him back, overpowered by a burning passion and heat that had unearthed itself inside her. Her hands found its way up his back to his neck, tangled in his tousled golden hair.

She could feel his rough hand slide up her leg, pushing her torn robe away. His hand traveled up her side, stroking her skin tenderly with his coarse fingers, leaving a fiery trail of awakened senses in its wake. A burst of life and raging passion pulsated through her and she fell into euphoria as his hands touched her and his lips never ceased to caress hers.

She forgot all about Apollo, about Troy, about Hector, Paris, her vows, her honor, her dignity. She forgot about everything, except to satiate that desire and hunger inside her that she had never released because she had been too busy trying to kill it.

…………………………………

Hello. Thank you for all your reviews. I appreciate it very much. I'm so sorry for such a long delay, but school has been really busy and tiring, what's more with upcoming exams. Thank you for waiting. Hope you like this.


	11. Eleven

_Nothing is easier..._

Those three words, so _simple_, repeated in her head long after they had been spoken. Long after their lovemaking, when their breathing had mellowed and the glistening sheen of sweat on their skin had cooled and dried.

Briseis lay quietly, her body still, thinking about what had just transpired between Achilles and her. In just an hour she had given herself up, her body, her chastity.

It had been so pleasurable then, so wonderful, those new feelings coursing through her veins, those aches in places she yearned for his touch, places that colored her cheeks red thinking about them now. Everything had been so new to her, so sensual, adrenaline rushing through her, consuming her every drawback. She had delighted in the sensation of his wet, moist lips all over her skin, those rough hands and how he had groaned and whispered her name in such a elicit manner it made her shiver even in the warm heat from their bodies.

And she had responded, moaning and crying out his name as well, pleading, _begging_ for more; more smothering kisses, more coarse caresses with his hands, more of those prohibited yet ever so desirable, foreign sensations.

And now that their desires had been fulfilled, what was there left?

Just guilt, shame and the inescapable horror that confronted her.

_Was it really worth it?_ She asked herself countless of times after she had been certain Achilles was asleep.

It didn't seem worth it now, after the heady passion had filtered away, but then…then it had seemed like it was everything she had ever wanted, everything that she would ever want.

When she thought about it now, it felt like a dream, something that she had floated through, something that had etched itself in her memory, but would come to pass and fade as a tiny wisp of fantasy.

But while it had been taking place, it was not so much a dream than it was reality. The rushed breathing in her ear, the slow smooth strokes of his fingertips on her, the salty smell of the sea and sweat, the burning emotion beneath those lavish kisses and blue eyes…If anything, it had been startlingly real.

Her insides felt as though they were being torn apart. She was caught in between; the truth, the reality, her illusions, fantasies, vain justifications…they were all just spiraling towards her in a never-ending, uncontrollable torment.

Her eyes, which she had closed tightly shut, sprang open. Her first instinct was to sit up, but she ceased her movement when she saw Achilles' arm wrapped about her middle. His hold, though he was sleeping, was strong, and the weight of his muscled arm pressed down heavily on the stomach.

Carefully, she struggled to lift his arm and place it quietly beside him, hoping that he would not wake up. He was a experienced warrior and after years of living in battle, his ears had been trained to pick up any sound, and Briseis knew that just one quickened breath was enough to jolt him out of sleep.

The dark blue silk sheet that had been covering her slid off like liquid when she stood up and the thick breeze shimmied across her bare skin. Her eyes gradually adjusting to the velvety darkness, she spied the brown garment Achilles had given her lying on the ground. Her white priestess robe lay strewn haphazardly on the ground, but it was not fit to be worn no longer. Achilles had nearly ripped it apart when they made love and it was now nothing more than pieces of dirty shreds.

Crawling silently and groping for the cloth, she managed to pull the dress over her, the coarseness of the cotton prickling her skin. Then she held the leather flaps at the entrance open and slipped out before she could have second thoughts.

She wasn't planning on running away; it was near impossible, and apart from the fact that her body was aching and she was physically and mentally exhausted, she didn't know any secret route to the walls of Troy.

Briseis stood still for a moment, closing her eyes and breathing in the salty sea air. Everything was so quiet now, peaceful and serene as even the toughest and most bloodthirsty men slept. She ran to the edge of the water, settling down in the soft sand, drawing her knees to her.

She had come here with the purpose to think, to sort out her thoughts, but ironically, as she stared at the black sea, the breeze swirling about her seemed to blow all the thoughts out of her head instead.

And as she sat there, looking but not seeing what was ahead of her, she felt an emotion that she never expected to feel at her present state.

She felt _alive_.

As though that at last, finally, she was living. Living not for others, not for an invisible purpose, but for herself. And as she slowly drew strength from that understanding, she came upon a revelation. She was human, just like any other person, with faults, strengths, weaknesses and _emotions_.

For so long, she had lived with the thought that as a priestess of Apollo, she was holy, above mortal, pure and unfailing. And so it kept her from living, while that thought bonded her so tightly that she had almost forgotten about the mortal underneath the white robe.

As she began to pry apart those misguided thoughts, Briseis felt her heart grow lighter and lighter, the burden weighing upon her disappearing.

Because as a mortal, it was only natural to make mistakes, make promises and break them and most of all…love. It was natural, how they were, and even the gods above were made to love, for more gods and goddesses were made from their offspring.

And slowly, but surely, she smiled, smiling idly at the endless water before her. It was something she herself hadn't done in days.

She started to feel a warm hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Achilles face peering down at hers. He held in his hands a long thick wrap and placed it on her.

"Here, take this. It's cold out here."

"Thank you." She managed to say, glad that he couldn't see her blush in the darkness. It seemed improper to look at him now, when just a few hours ago they had lain together in the throes of passion.

"What are you doing out here Briseis?" His voice broke through the silence.

She thought about the question, it was so simple. She looked up to answer, to say that she had come to think about her actions, that it was wrong.

Though the moonlight was faint, she saw the slight glimmer of concern in his eyes. And at that moment, she knew it wasn't wrong. It was quite the opposite.

"I, I just needed some fresh air. Nothing is the matter." She nodded to him, swallowing, willing her blush to go away. Briseis stood up and turned to go, pulling the warm wrap about her, with Achilles following.

She gave one last look at the calm dark sea before turning her head away, finally looking and seeing what she was really made of, the illusion of herself falling and slipping away into the darkness.

…………………………….

I hope you like this. Sorry about the long wait. If you don't get the last part, please tell me and I'll explain. Thanks for all your reviews though.


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